Truth hurts
by mipib2
Summary: Story AU. Dean never told Sam of his deal and Sam never went to hell. In this story, Dean is hit with a curse that requires him to speak the truth. As a consequence, he will have to reveal past trauma, about his time in hell, all the stuff he hides away for no one to ever see. Will Sam stay upon hearing the truth? Set sometime after Season 8.
1. Prelude

**Truth Hurts**

_Please note:_ This story contains direct quotes from the show in the final chapter. All rights belong to the show and credit goes to the awesome writers, cast and crew.

_Warnings_: This story references to underage rape, torture, non-con. Read at your own risk. Also, this is not a story for John-fans, as he is depicted very negatively in this story.

——————-

**Prelude**

Dean never revealed his demon deal to save Sam. A year later he had walked out of their motel and not returned. His mangled body had been found less than 200 metres from the motel. Bobby had filled in the missing pieces of Dean's deal to Sam. Sam had been devastated and yet had not been able to get Dean back, not through a lack of trying though.

Then Dean had returned, with seemingly no memory of where he had been or how he had returned. The angels had started a war with the demons and their lives had been busy preventing the apocalypse. In the end, their brother Adam had saved the world and fallen into hell. Sam and Dean eventually found a way to get him out. A wall in his mind prevented Adam from recalling his time in hell and Sam reasoned a similar wall had been placed in Dean's mind, though Castiel had been uncharacteristically evasive about it when Sam had asked. They moved on with their lives, took on new hunts, continued with the family business.


	2. Canus Lupus Hex

_Warnings_: This story references to underage rape, torture, non-con.

————————-

"_There's nothing left alive_

_As we watch the spirits die_

_The world keeps turning_

_My heart keeps learning_

_Do you know where the guilty sleep"_

(from Truth Hurts by Deep Purple)

———————

"Dicem veritatem tuam!"

The witch screamed her curse through the old glass, just as Dean tipped the mirror to the floor and it broke into a thousand pieces. The mirror had housed the ghost of the witch for decades and breaking it finally put her to rest. However, despite wanting to deny it Dean had glanced in the mirror for just a second. He guiltily turned towards Sam.

"You didn't!" Sam exclaimed though already knowing the answer from the look on Dean's face. Sam turned his back to hide his anger, his frustration. "Dammit, Dean," he said in a tired, quiet voice, betraying he had already said those words far too many times.

"Now the mirror is broken, the spell probably won't work?" Even to his own ears, Dean could hear that he didn't believe the words he'd spoken. Sam's angry glance confirmed he didn't either. Since when had their luck held?

"Let's go home, see if there is any lore that'll help". Sam glanced at his watch, "in any case we should have time to prepare, witching hour is still four hours away."

Back at the bunker, they didn't find an immediate solution to their new problem. Not that either had really believed they would, as they had already researched and come up empty-handed when working the case.

They emptied the small bedroom at the end of the corridor. Sam fixed three heavy bars across the doorway. "Think it'll hold?"

As the sun set their fears were confirmed. From the other side of the door Sam could hear grunting, coughs and the rasp of movement against the concrete floor. Almost an hour went by before he heard the unmistaken rumble of a snarl.

Behind the door, the large grey shape was standing, ears peaked towards the door. The slow rise of the head belied the unnatural animal. The eyes retained their original green colour, but there was no human reason behind them. Claws raked across the door, the heavy weight of the body bounced against it.

The wolf wanted out.

—————

Hours spent listening to the gnarls, the angry barks, and by the start of sunrise the sorrowful howling, yet the door held. Sam waited patiently for the day to fully arrive, but never left his guarding position seated by the door.

A soft whimper woke him. He must have dozed off waiting for morning and Dean to return. The whimper sounded again. Sam could hear the faint noise of flesh and bone remoulding and the whimpers grew louder to eventually turn frantic. Sometimes Sam could hear the crunching sound of bone breaking, a sound Sam was only too intimately familiar with. The whimpers changed to screeching, the sound of a wolf screaming.

A pale Dean looked up as the light of the opening door fell upon him. Sam gently placed a set of clothes in the doorway then left wordlessly as he released Dean from the improvised prison.

A race against time had started. None of the previous victims of the witch's curse had lasted long - the longest surviving victim had survived for nearly a month, but had also killed several when in wolf form.

All victims had died by their own hand. Listening to Dean's transformation, Sam now had a good idea why.

——————-

Dean went straight to the bathroom. He didn't bother dressing in the clothes Sam had left. In the shower, the sour sweat and clammy feel washed off easily, but the memory of the pain still lingered. Only Alastair, his torturer in hell, had ever managed to evoke this level of pain in him, and Dean knew that it was only a matter of time before he broke. He always broke.

They spent the day in the library researching, Dean nursing a beer but staying sober enough to take in the material he read. Sam, always the faster reader, with a single-minded focus (stubbornness in Dean's view) had already scanned a stack of books from the far-side bookcase, whilst Dean was still on book number two.

By evening and too many books to count later, Dean went to his old room where he undressed and wrapped himself in an old blanket. Then he trudged across the hallway to his new, bare room. He mourned the loss of his comfortable bed, then lay down on the cold concrete floor in the small room. He didn't answer Sam's weary platitudes of "we are going to find a way out of this", "you and me", and "us" before the click of the lock sounded as a final full stop to Sam's old-worn sermon. He had heard it all before, and it made no difference when the pain came. Then all that was Dean faded away.


	3. Brothers in arms

"_Embracing bygones_

_You build upon the ground you were taken from_

_To be robbed again_

_Silence won't pay __cash __in hand_

_So align __the honest_

_Find in yourself solace with __everything_

_Then fight for all you are worth"_

(from Brave Face by Another Sky)

————-

Seven days later and they were no closer to breaking the curse. Sam, or was it Dean? He could no longer remember who had called Castiel, but the angel had joined their desperate research sessions.

Two weeks in and Dean stopped eating. Nothing he ate stayed down, the slow agonising wait for the wolf transformation robbing him of his appetite. The lack of sleep from either reading or going through the change, and he was too tired to even keep up the pretence for the sake of not worrying Sam and Cas.

A month of pain, pain, pain, and Dean no longer stayed even close to sober. Jack and José were terrible friends though, only making the time of recovery move faster whilst the period of pain dragged out as the change caused the alcohol to dissipate.

——————-

"I've been thinking", Sam leaned against the door frame to Dean's room. Dean had not even noticed his approaching footsteps, his head resting against the headboard yet not quite asleep. Sam paused for the inevitable quip but as Dean ignored the easy opening Sam continued.

"It's a truth spell, we know that much."

"So?" Dean still stared into the wall opposite, but at least he was u today. The bruises around his mouth less sore today perhaps Sam thought. Cas, on the other hand, had yet to speak to Sam since helping restrain Dean for the forced feeding they had administered two days prior.

"If you fulfil the demands placed on you, the curse should lift." It was his last-ditch attempt. They had already been down this avenue before. "You speak only the truth, and it should lift".

"I already tried that". They had. Two weeks in and Dean had been honest for a full day by barely speaking a word. The curse had still claimed the night and they had instead sought other ways to break it.

"But the spell didn't mean just truth", Sam continued. "The spell the witch cast, 'dicem veritatem tuam' translates to 'Speak your truth'. I don't think it is just being truthful that is needed. You have to express who you consider yourself to be. Your truth".

Sam waited. He could see that even in his inebriated state, Dean was considering it.

"How?" Dean replied after a long pause.

————————

He was looking at Sam with the same anger reserved for supernatural creatures as he bit into the burger Sam had placed in front of him. They were sitting by the middle table in the library, the gentle lighting contrasting to the anger swirling in Dean's eyes. Sam lifted his chin, a gentle challenge for Dean to eat, or else.

Dean was first to break eye contact. "So what do you think I have to say?"

"I don't know," Sam replied. "Tell me about something you think makes you you, I guess. Quintessentially Dean".

"Huh," Dean replied. "OK, here goes. My name is Dean. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach..."

"Dean, come on."

Dean sighed. "Alright. But I don't know what to say. Can't you ask me something, to get me started?"

"OK". Sam considered whether to go for questions starting with earliest memory and moving forwards in a chronological order, but decided that the curse was probably more about the fundamental facts of who you were, which were not necessarily rooted in time. "Why do you hunt? Remember, you have to 100% honest or this won't work."

The reminder to be honest grated on Dean's already frayed nerves. His hatred of witches increasing another notch, before he answered. "I hunt to save people. Because people deserve saving, and they haven't got the training to deal with the supernatural. We do."

He paused as if considering continuing, before he added. "And I like the hunt, the thrill of the chase, the fight." He sat back.

Nothing that Sam didn't already know. But it was good start, as Sam knew that Dean had answered honestly.

Sam pondered next what was most important about Dean, but also something he would find easy enough to answer. They would have to build to the heavier stuff, he knew, if he were to keep Dean going. "Why do you love the Impala?"

Dean started grinning. "Baby is all smooth curves, power under the hood, and when she rolls, she purrs. Her leather seats fit just right, the black paint – she is so hot…"

Sam let Dean reminiscence about the car for a while until his patience started wearing thin. He should have known that Dean would use such an opening to keep up his, frankly, unhealthy attraction to the car. He glared at Dean, who for once took the hint.

On a more sombre note, Dean continued. "She never lets us down, always starts when we need her too. Always gets us to the hospital in time."

OK, time to move it along Sam thought. "Who is the most important person in your life?"

"You, Sammy." Dean answered. Though, his glaring at Sam belayed the warm feelings that sprung up in Sam's chest by Dean's honest reply.

"Why?" Sam countered.

"Urgh!" Dean rested his forehead on the table, clearly not keen on answering. "Because you're my brother. You know I love you, man. Why do you have to ask about this – you know this already."

"We're not doing this for my benefit. You have to speak _your truth_, Dean. And, who I am to you is part of that."

"Fine!" Dean replied in the tone of countless teenagers across the ages.

"You're my brother, you're family. I took care of you when you were little. I looked after you. We look out for each other." He stopped to consider next. "When we were little, you and dad, you were pretty much my entire world. Now, dad is gone and you're a big part of my life". He drummed his fingers on the table. "Biggest part of my life." he amended.

"We do things together, we're a team. It's you and me against the world, all them sons of bitches we fight. We fight together, we hunt together." Dean paused and looked to the side of Sam, no longer keeping eye contact.

"You know me better than anyone. We share experiences, pain, our entire lives". Dean glanced quickly at Sam, then away again. "You've got my back. I trust you with my life, more than anyone." Dean paused for breath and continued in a quiet voice. "I'm known because of you. Without you, I would be nobody."

The hollow statement at the end going against the very grain of Sam's being, but he knew that he could not start up a discussion about this. This was not about what Sam thought, or anyone else. This was Dean telling his view, his version. And Sam had to accept that, however much he wanted to argue against Dean's perception of his place in the world.

"Who is Cas to you?" he asked instead. On and on he asked questions and Dean answered. Long into the night, Dean telling his truth until morning when it was clear that he was not going to transform.

Dean had fallen asleep still dressed early in the morning and had slept through uninterrupted until late afternoon. He woke refreshed for the first time in weeks.

After celebrating with beer, nachos and greasy Mexican tortillas, Dean announced he was going out. Sam let him go, understanding the need for a bit of time apart after their marathon heart-to-heart of the night before.

It turned out that night that the curse would not be so easily dislodged. Dean felt the starting twinges of the transformation whilst knocking back another shot at Jake's bar and had managed to make it back to the bunker in time for Sam to lock him up again, his body and face already mangled and twisted as he finally crawled to the small, claw marked room.

For the first time he did not hold in his cries and screams as his body twisted and broke, until only the wolf remained. Sam sat at the other side of the door crying quietly so no-one could hear.


	4. Something stolen

_Warnings_: This chapter references to underage rape and dub-con.

_Note_: The differentiation Dean draws between his experience of coercion and rape as separate things are not an expression of my views. Both are rape, but as a character, I think it possible that Dean would not view both experiences as rape. Sam, on the other hand, would, though he does not get to express that here fully.

———————

"_Never opened myself this way_

_Life is ours, we live it our way_

_All these words I don't just say_

_And nothing else matters_

_Trust I seek and I find in you_

_Every day for us something new_

_Open mind for a different view_

_And nothing else matters"_

(from Nothing Else Matters by Metallica)

———————

"I don't mean only being honest. The spell the witch cast, 'dicem veritatem tuam', we know is latin and veritatem comes from the root word veritas..." Sam started.

"Oh kill me now!" Dean interjected.

"...Actually originated from the Greek word 'aletheia' meaning 'not hidden' or 'not concealed'" Sam continued, only a slight narrowing of his brows betraying he had heard Dean's comment.

Sam looked down, and Dean knew he was not going to like what came next.

"What if rather than just speaking the truth, you reveal things you keep hidden? What if I asked you things. About the stuff you hide and you answered only with the truth?" The pleading in Sam's voice revealing his own desperation to try and overcome the curse. Night after night of listening to Dean's cries and he was as his wits' ends.

Just how desperate Dean was too, was clear as he did not scoff or outright reject the idea as Sam had expected.

Sam kept quiet, knowing that to get Dean to agree he could not push, never push.

——————

Dean took another bite of the pizza Sam had placed on the table between them stalling for time.

"I don't think this is going to work."

"Dean..." Sam started, but Dean cut him off with "this is stupid Sam!"

"I tell you some personal crap and you think it will make everything better!"

"What have you got to lose?" Sam replied, sounding reasonable in the way that got Dean mad faster than even the dreaded bitch-face could.

_Everything_, was Dean's first thought. He was being unfair, though, and he knew it. Sam and him had fought long and hard to achieve a more equal partnership, with the scars to prove it. He was not going to throw all that away over a stupid witch's curse.

"Fine," he grumbled and heard Sam's restrained exhale. "What do you wanna know now?"

Sam, with sorrow realised that Dean was ready to answer all the things he normally kept so well hidden and guarded. Only at the point of pain of death was he willing to acquiesce to Sam's want of knowledge. It was a final, bitter victory.

"Ok, first question," Sam started. Dean's shoulders visibly hunched, his hands gripping the arms of his chair for support against the oncoming onslaught.

"Did you ever cheat when you fought against dad?"

A wolfish smile crossed Dean's face and Sam knew the answer before Dean spoke it. "Always." Came the reply. "But then so did he! Who do you think I learnt all the tricks from?"

"Alright. Next question then. Who was the first person you had a crush on?"

"Milly McInnes" Dean replied "3rd grade". The unmistakable glint in Dean's eyes revealing that the crush had been mutual.

Sam smiled, the light so long gone from his brother's eyes, he could not help feeling good seeing its return, however briefly.

"Ok, who did you lose your virginity to?" Dean had always been uncharacteristically cagey about this, despite knowing each and every one of Sam's passionate attachments, sometimes in far too much detail in Sam's view. I mean, no-one likes their, aherm, physical prowess critiqued by an older, more experienced big brother, do they?

The half-smile disappeared from his brother's features and Dean glanced down at his hands as if needing to recall a distant memory. Sam did not remind him of the need for the truth, they were both only too aware.

A long silence before Dean answered "what kind?"

Sam was taken aback. A question meant as an ice breaker, a building up of trust, and he had already stumbled into uncharted, forbidden territory.

"All kinds, I suppose," Sam answered, not wanting to reveal he was not certain how many different kinds there were in Dean's view.

Dean rubbed his mouth, his most obvious tell and Sam knew he was not going to like the answers if Dean was this apprehensive already.

Of course Dean started with the easy answer. "Charleen Chiggs. 8th grade". Dean's eyes remained dull, though, as he continued. He placed both hands on the table top, far too casually, then continued, "Officer Wells. 8th grade." A pause. When he looked up his eyes were set in a challenge. 'Here lie skeletons - enter if you dare' projected to Sam loud and clear.

Sam could have swerved, gone back to safe territory and asked about Charleen. Instead he continued with "how did that happen?"

Dean suddenly got up and walked around the table. Annoyed that the challenge had been accepted, yet knowing it would. They had been sitting in the middle of the library and there was plenty of space for Dean to move around in. Yet, he still felt confined, caged.

God, how he hated this.

"I hate this," he said truthfully.

"I know." Sam replied calmly, still sitting down, gallingly immobile. Sam was also no longer smiling, both of them knew that what came next would be unpleasant for them both.

So Dean talked, of a time when Sam had been ill, a fever spiking, a dad unreachable. He had got caught stealing medicines. There had been no time to wait for the slow wheels of a social system not set up to deal with their situation. Short on time, and needing the medicine, Dean had brokered his release for that of the officer's - he spoke in crude terms of pain, hunger, lust.

Sam understood and that was enough. "And Charleen?" He prompted into the quiet. Dean continued along the easier path Sam had mapped out. He did not sit down again.

When evening came Dean undressed as always. Wrapped himself in the blanket which was shredded through in multiple places, the wolf's sharp claws ripping into the old fabric causing it to cover too little. Dean laid down on the floor to await the pain.

It took a while before he realised the pain was not coming. The curse had been lifted. But the relief was only momentary, he now knew.

——————-

"Did you ever hate Dad?" They were back to the QA from hell. Sam prodding long buried memories best left in peace.

"No."

"Did dad ever..."

"Give it a rest, Sam," he interrupted sullenly.

Sam had decided they should sit on the mezzanine floor in the bunker, in the faded leather armchairs they had only rarely used until now. He had lid three candles on the table and turned off all other lighting. Dean was grateful that he could not see Sam's expression clearly in the darkened hall, instead able to follow the dancing flames as they flickered and spat.

"I watched you die." He suddenly blurted.

"What happened after?" Sam asked. He had always been curious to know, possibly morbidly so. At least that's what Bobby had growled at him when he had asked him. He had not got an answer then and had not asked again.

Dean understood with sudden clarity: Sam did not understand and Dean had to make him, he realised. His truth.

"I watched you die, and for me the world ended." He said instead. "All was lost."

To Sam's horror, Dean started crying. He had never seen his brother so quickly and freely release his feelings. To just let go. It was horrifying to watch, to realise how much Dean had hurt then, for this one thought, just thinking about this one memory, to yield such sorrow. To be that important for someone else. The responsibility it implied. Sam watched his brother wrap his arms around himself, pushing himself further into the chair, to comfort himself or hold more emotions in, Sam wasn't sure. So, Sam went to him, dropped to his knees so they were of same height. Wrapped his older brother in a hug and let him pour his sorrow out. For all that Sam might want to know, it was not what happened next that had mattered to Dean.

The curse did not visit that night.

'Will it be enough you think?" Dean asked.

"I don't know", Sam answered though in his mind a traitorous voice whispered 'no'.

——————

Dean was sulking, not that Sam did not sympathise. Yet, though he felt awful for Dean's suffering, there was also another smaller feeling of childish glee that Dean was having to experience what Sam so frequently had, to have all his inner thoughts revealed. Dean had always known just what Sam had always felt. In fact, Sam had rarely been able to hide anything from Dean. The longest secret he had ever held had been the months he had carried his acceptance letter around from Stanford. A sudden thought occurred and Sam asked: "When did you know I was leaving? For Stanford I mean."

The blank facade Dean presented confirming his sudden suspicion. "A couple of weeks before you told dad," he answered after only a brief pause.

"Why didn't you talk to me about it?" Sam asked earnestly.

"Why didn't you?" Dean countered. The facade still in place.

For all that Dean was forced to reveal, it was only fair that Sam should face the truth on a few matters himself, he reasoned.

"I thought you would be mad, at me," he answered with his own candour.

"I was." Came the honest reply.

———————-

"How did you get the scar on your shoulder?" They both knew which scar Sam asked about, though it had been gone for years. A scar Dean had explained away with daring tales of hunts gone wrong, creatures lashing out, yet not the same tale told twice.

Dean folded his arms. Not in anger, but in an unconscious posture of defence. Damn Sam and his perceptive, elephantine brain.

He thought about lying. Was the pain really so bad as being worth preventing by opening this can of worms?

The pause told Sam that Dean was deliberating whether to tell him the truth. His brother's screams still vividly fresh, only a few nights old in his memory, and yet here Dean sat, debating whether the pain was better, more bearable, than telling Sam a simple truth of how he got a scar. If he didn't know from hard earned experience just how Dean would react if he expressed how angry this made Sam, he would start speaking his mind right about now. Instead, he reigned in his frustration, his anger and let the silence carry the question.

'"I got it from a belt buckle."

At first, Sam didn't get it. Then it dawned on him and through clenched teeth he asked "who?"

As much as he wanted to evade this whole conversation Dean was not one to back down once started. A single word reply would suffice, he knew. But the price, to shatter his brother's trust, a trust that had only recently healed. It felt a terribly high price for the sake of easing his own pain.

"Dad."

He doubted Sam would be able to forgive what came next.

———————-

"When was the last time dad 'punished' you this way?" The way Sam sneered the word 'punished' conveyed adequately that he thought it was anything but.

"The night you left." Dean begrudgingly answered. There would be no way back after this. Any thoughts of a happy reunion in the afterlife one day, destroyed for a few hours to live pain free. Dean was not sure he didn't feel worse for telling.

"Why didn't you fight back? It wasn't your fault I left!" Sam all but shouted the last sentence, his calm posterior finally starting to crack.

"Wasn't it?" Dean, this time the one remaining calm, replied. "I knew you were leaving and I did nothing to stop you".

Sam, reeling, his whole world tilting. His brother, always so infuriatingly loyal and devoted to their dad. Sam had always assumed that Dean had chosen that, had in the end chosen their dad rather than coming with Sam to California, from a position of love for their father and duty to their cause. Now, he saw Dean as a child impossibly lumbered with responsibility beyond what he could physically do, unable to earn money or provide, reliant on a negligent parent whose priority was to avenge the dead at the cost of the living. A child, dependant on a father who instead of providing, brutalised him. Who demanded a childhood to be sacrificed on the altar of Sammy's. Not a chosen loyalty, a necessary one. Or else.

Sammy thought back to the Introduction to Psychology class he had taken in college for extra credit. They had covered attachment in one class. He still vividly remembered the picture of a monkey clinging to its surrogate mother doll, the monkey upon having experienced distress clinging harder to the 'parent' who had caused it. Dependency, had been the term used. He had already then recognised the relationship, and from the discomfort of being confronted with unwanted understanding, dropped the module soon after.

In a moment, the love and respect Sam had so newly rebuilt for their father, crashed and burned. No. This was not forgivable.

——————-

"Did you tell anyone about being raped?" Sam jumped straight in - no preamble, no warning.

It took Dean a few seconds to determine what Sam was referring to.

"I was not raped, Sam" he answered irritated by the direction of their conversation. Why did they have to talk about this again?

"You were how old? 13? 14? A minor coerced by an adult, who as a police officer was in a position of ultimate power. That's rape, Dean."

"I was the one suggested the sex, I was not 'coerced'. The guy prepped me, ok! It was not rape, it was just sex. I know the fucking difference, Sam!"

Dean was tired, tired from lack of sleep in this eternal wait-and-see if the curse would raise its ugly head each night. Tired from being questioned on all matters private that he had no interest in exploring, that tore at his emotions. He felt wrung out, or he would have noticed the slip-up earlier, known to expect what came next. Instead, there was a moments silence, and just when Dean thought Sam might leave it, another dreaded question appeared.

"How do you know the difference between rape and just sex?" Sam asked coolly, the voice constrained from withheld anger.

How had this become their life, Dean wondered.

"This is such bullshit, Sam. We should be out hunting things, saving people. Not sitting with our thumbs up our arses debating what counts as rape and what doesn't!"

"Then stop stalling Dean. How - do - you - know!" The last part enunciated between clenched teeth.

For the millionth time Dean debated whether to suffer the physical pain instead of answering. But Sam was like a dog with a bone, he knew all too well. He'd never let it rest, but instead repeat the question day after day. Eventually, Dean would answer and all that stood between now and then were nights of pain and more pain. Better to tell now then though part of him wanted to go hide in his little room and await the change.

He needed a drink for this. He got up and pulled out the whiskey he had hidden behind the books on mermaid lore (they never needed to read those). He chose to forego glasses and instead took a long pull of the whiskey straight from the bottle. Wiped his mouth a couple of times before sitting back down, feeling Sam's eyes upon him the entire time.

"Turn around." He finally said.

"What?" Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion, though anger still lingered in his eyes.

"I can't tell you this if you're looking at me. Turn around." Dean didn't meet his eyes but Sam caught the plea in them all the same. He turned his chair so he sat with his back to Dean. Dean took another swig of the bottle. Then he told Sam what he knew of rape. His knowledge was surprisingly comprehensive. The bottle was empty by the time he had finished.

Sam carried him to his bed, gently placed him on top of his covers.

"Isshit bedtjime, Sammyee" he slurred. Someone was crying. Was someone crying? Where had that thought come from, he wondered? He listened but could not hear any crying. Someone stroked his hair though, but his eyes had closed and he wasn't sure who it was. Must be Sammy, he thought. He led the thought go, enjoying the gentle comfort as he drifted off to sleep.

Sam couldn't sleep. His emotions were all over the place. He felt riled up and exhausted at the same time. The anger that had started rising earlier had never subdued, instead rising to supernova heights. But now it was paired with bone-deep pain and sorrow.

He felt ready to burn the world to the ground, to avenge what had been done to his brother. So much hurt and pain, and he had never even known.

He needed, no wanted, to hurt someone, kill those who had hurt Dean. But he couldn't leave his brother like this, drunk as a skunk and emotionally raw. So, Sam stayed and watched over Dean as he slept, the slow rise and fall of his chest, inch by inch calming Sam down until the early hours when he felt satisfied Dean would be alright. Sam lay down next to Dean, too tired, feeling too alone, to want to sleep in his own room. He'd wake up before Dean and leave, he thought as he fell asleep also.


	5. A blunt force

_Warnings_: This chapter references to underage rape, torture, non-con.

———————-

Sam woke up to something tickling his face. He slowly eased his eyes open to be met by Dean's rascal grin. "Up and at them cowboy!" Dean grinned as he slid a long-sleeved plaid shirt over his t-shirt.

"What?" Sam felt as if his brain was still partly asleep. He glanced at the clock on Dean's shelf. It was almost noon! He had been asleep for over 10 hours!

Then he heard the dreaded, though not wholly unexpected words, "I've found us a hunt, Sammy". He'd known this was coming from the moment he had seen Dean's easy grin.

Part of him wanted to argue, to protest. But he also knew his brother, knew he needed this after last night.

And he was determined to show how little the extra knowledge meant to how he viewed Dean. Dean, who had always been 'big brother, the protector, the mediator between dad and Sam' now Sam had added 'survivor' and 'stronger than I ever knew' to the list.

"Ok. Just give me a minute to shower", he answered and lumbered back to his own room.

———————-

As always, the hunt had been more difficult than expected. Sam had dislocated his shoulder, Dean had wrenched his knee. The supernatural creature was no more, the small town was as safe as they could make it. They retreated home to the bunker to recuperate.

Only that night, Dean's curse returned.

———————-

Sam hated the curse. As he listened to his brother's cries he cursed the witch in ever more creative and dark invectives. Anything to distract himself from the obvious cries of pain emitting from the small cell.

"I don't have anything more to tell. You know it all now."

They were back in the library. The curse was still in place. Cas had left to try and find another way to lift it and had yet to return. Since their return from the hunt, they had had days of being unable to move far and recovering from their injuries, and Dean was hoarse from speaking. Yet, the curse was not broken.

Was it possible that to speak his truth, Dean had to tell all, even things he did not consciously remember, Sam wondered. Were there things in his memories that Dean did not remember that he had somehow concealed?

Only one thing that Dean had never spoken of, that Sam knew he did not remember. Dean's time in hell.

Yet, Sam did not want to know. Something worse than the things Dean had already revealed, worse enough that he had repressed the memories. What could be worse than what he had already revealed? No, if it was worse Sam didn't want to know.

To be ignorant meant he could rejoice in their shared memories, their lives lived. Not colour it all through a lense of pain and torture. The year Dean had been gone, Sam had imagined what hell was like through guilt and an odd notion of penance. He knew he'd never voluntarily want to revisit that time in his mind.

Yet, did he not owe Dean? Dean had lived that time, after all, for Sam. Bearing witness to those memories, was that not a chance for real penance for Sam? For him to suffer this once so Dean could stop suffering?

———————-

"So what you are saying is that it's not enough for me to have to dredge up all my old crap. You're going to get into my head, mess around with my memories, see if you can dig worse stuff up. That it?" Dean was speaking with a quiet intensity Sam knew was like the quiet before the storm.

"Dean, you don't have to remember them. You don't have to know." Sam continued. "The African dream root, it lets me see your experiences as you recall them in your dreams. I can speak those memories for you."

"I thought I had to speak them. Speak my truth", Dean answered curtly.

"I don't think it matters who speaks them. The point is that they must be spoken for the curse to be broken."

"You don't think!" Dean scoffed. "And what if you're wrong? What then?"

"Then we find another way," Sam continued unfazed. "It's worth a try."

Dean went down another route of attack. "What if I dream of rainbows or unicorns, of sexy Asian beauties. how will going into my dreams help you then? I can't control what I dream of. I may never dream of hell."

"You dream of hell." Sam stated with a miserable finality. And Dean was too much of a coward to find out how Sam knew.

"No," he shouted. And with that one word, he turned and left the room, effectively ending their argument.

But Sam did not relent. And the nightly pain slowly wore down Dean's resolve.


	6. And the truth shall make you free

_Please note:_ This chapter contains direct quotes from the show from Season 4. All rights belong to the show and credit goes to the awesome writers, cast and crew.

_Warnings_: This chapter references torture.

——————-

_"I look inside myself and see my heart is black_

_I see my red door I must have it painted black_

_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts_

_It's not easy facin' up, when your whole world is black"_

_(From Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones)_

_——————-_

The bunker was quiet, as Sam padded to the kitchen to refill his glass of water. He had taken to sleeping during the night again, moving down a level to avoid listening to Dean's nightly cries of pain. He could not listen and not do something to stop the suffering. Only their repeated history of doing what was supposedly best had stopped him from taking matters into his own hands. He now knew, it never led anywhere good. If he was to respect the wishes of his brother, he had had to remove himself from those noises.

The light flickered on and he filled the glass up. He closed the light again and wandered back the hallway towards the staircase to the lower level. He stopped in front of the cell keeping Dean. He looked at his watch. It was nearing the time of Dean's change. He knocked to see if Dean had settled in, to see if it was time to secure the door. When no answer came, he tried the door. It came open, revealing Dean sitting with his back against the wall, a slight sheen of sweat covering his face and the parts of his body visible through the threadbare blanket he had pulled around him.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at the glass in Sam's hand with envy. Sam looked down at the glass then offered it to Dean.

"Thanks."

"OK," Sam replied, feeling the old anger starting to swirl again. He turned to walk out, rather than repeat their current never-ending argument. His hand reaching for the door, when Dean in a small, foreign voice rasped "I remember hell."

"What?" Sam turned around in confusion, facing Dean again. Dean was looking down, appearing exhausted and small. Remembering the difficulty Dean had with looking at Sam when he revealed his old memories, Sam closed the door, leaving them both in darkness. He slid down to the floor, his back against the opposite wall to Dean.

"I never forgot." Dean continued speaking into the dark, small room. His voice so different to usual, Sam almost didn't recognise it as belonging to his brother.

The shock of the revelation made Sam crunch his teeth together and pull his fingers into tight fists to prevent speaking at first. He reeled in his initial response. This might be the only chance he would get. With no judgment in his voice he answered "Tell me."

At first, Dean stayed quiet. But Sam had learnt to wait, to be patient. Seconds ticked agonisingly slowly by.

"Down there. I don't know, time's different. It wasn't 4 months. It was more like 40 years."

The immensity of the statement made Sam's heart clench hard, his entire chest soon aching. He focused on his breathing to calm himself down. The conversation was barely started and already he felt like throwing up.

"They sliced and carved..." Dean paused before continuing, needing to store up the courage to continue, "and tore at me in ways you..." Again, his voice faltered.

Sam, knowing what the hesitancy meant, what it cost Dean to tell him, felt his heart break at the admission from Dean.

Sam could hear Dean swallowing before he continued again. "Until there was nothing left." Dean continued, his breathing now louder and faster.

"Then I would be made whole again, and it would start all over." Sam's breaking heart shattered into small pieces on hearing his worst fears confirmed, years and years of unending torture.

"And at the end of every day, they would make me an offer. To take me off the rack if I put souls on. And for thirty years I told them no." Dean's breath hitched and Sam could hear the quiet noises of Dean's crying. Sam's own silent tears started falling. He made no attempt to wipe them off his face.

"But then I couldn't do it any more, Sammy. God help me, I got off that rack."

Sam could barely stay still, so badly he wanted to move across the room and comfort his brother. But if he interfered now, Dean would stop. And he would not make Dean go through this conversation again. So Sam remained seated.

"I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls." Dean was crying and no longer attempting to hide it, the words barely legible over the strained breaths and warbled voice.

"So you see. There is no forgiving, there's no forgetting. There's no making it better. That's the truth."

A sheen of light crossed the room as the witch's curse finally lifted for good. Neither felt any elation at that point. Sam crawled over to his brother, gathered him in his arms and slowly rocked him until the crying stopped. It took a long time and Sam's body was aching with the strain of being hunched over hugging his brother. Yet, he revelled in it, to finally be able to offer comfort.

"It's your truth, Dean," Sam finally answered. "I forgive you. That's my truth".

_The end._


End file.
